


Watch Over Me

by Aphasioutta



Category: Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Use, Hurt Matt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Peter's a good friend, Smut, but cute?, but it spiralled out of control, i guess??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:40:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aphasioutta/pseuds/Aphasioutta
Summary: Daredevil gets hurt on patrol. Spiderman gets him home and patched up. Feelings ensue.





	Watch Over Me

Daredevil was a broody, quiet kind of guy, but Peter liked him well enough. The two had been working together on and off for a while, teaming up when things might get out of hand or they happened to be following the same lead. This time, they were working to track and close a drug ring in Hell’s Kitchen, but things went South. The heroes won, of course, and managed to take down the criminals involved, but in the process, one straggling dealer pulled a gun and managed to fire at Daredevil. Peter kicked the asshole in the head, and both men took off before the cops arrived, their work done.

Peter didn’t realize Daredevil had actually been hurt until they were on a roof three blocks away. The older man stumbled, choking back a groan and clutching his side. He warded Peter off with a hand, trying to get up on his own, but lost his footing under him with a low curse. Peter saw, then, that his crimson uniform was dripping with blood, and that he was sweating and panting.

Daredevil growled but didn’t resist when Peter kneeled to check him out, gingerly moving the man’s large hand away from the wound. There was blood, enough to make Peter cringe. It had just been a lucky shot, wedged right between two plates of armor. The odds of him actually getting hit there were slim, but apparently, it was possible. How bad was he hurt? Peter tried to think back to high school health class, the diagram of what organs sat where in the human body. He couldn’t remember, but he was noticing now that DD’s breathing was getting a little ragged. The clock was ticking.

“You need a hospital,” Peter decided, and started to gather the larger man up in his arms. Metro-General was half a mile away, but if Peter was fast enough--

“No.” Daredevil struggled to break out of Peter’s hold but seemed to do more damage to himself, letting out a wince and a painful hiss when he moved.

“D, you’re losing way too much blood. We have to--” He reached for the larger man again, who didn’t push him away, but gripped his arm hard.

“Look, my apartment is seven blocks south. I have a friend who can patch me up. Get me home. Please.” Every word was spoken through gritted teeth, and Pete could see the pain on the face under that cowl. He did what he was told, though, and carried the man home. He could feel Daredevil tremble in his arms, could see how pale he had already become under his helmet. Peter had a tight knot in his gut the whole time.

Spiderman hauled the vigilante into the spacious apartment through the roof entrance that had been weakly indicated by his companion. Clean, sparse, and lit up by a really annoying neon sign outside. He realized the place was nice overall, very nice, but filed the information away for later. He laid Daredevil out as gently as he could on the leather couch. Daredevil didn’t respond with a wince or gasp, and his limbs were lax. He was out cold.

Peter, fearing the worst, held Daredevil’s head in one and slapped his face lightly to wake him. “C’mon, bud, tell me how to call your friend. I need you here, I need you to focus.”

Daredevil groaned, a pitiful, half-alive sound. “Claire. Number’s on the fridge.”

Pete raced to the fridge and found a scribbled number. He whipped his phone out of the hidden pocket at his hip, and heard a woman answer after two rings. “Dr. Temple, who’s this?”

Clair sounded more than a little annoyed when Spiderman explained the situation, but promised to be there within twenty minutes, and gave him some basic instructions. Clean with warm water, apply pressure. Peter frantically searched the kitchen. He filled a mixing bowl with water, grabbed all the clean dish towels Daredevil had and brought them back to the living room. 

Daredevil had pulled his gloves and helmet off before passing out again, gear dropped carelessly on the floor by the couch. Peter almost didn’t want to look, but was taken aback for a second by the face underneath. He had imagined...he didn’t know what he had imagined under that familiar mask, but it wasn’t the beautiful man that he saw. Even pale from the blood loss, even with dark hair sticking sickly to his forehead, Peter was at a loss. Daredevil was hot.

Not the time for this, dumbass, Peter thought. Right. He crouched by the sofa and pulled his own mask off. May as well level the field. Peter patted his cheek, trying to rouse him. His eyes fluttered.

“D, look at me, man. Can you look at me?”

“No.” Pained, glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling.

“Seriously, smartass, look at me.”

A sob was wrenched from the vigilante. No, not a sob, just a pained laugh, accompanied by a wide but fleeting grin. He turned his head and looked in Peter’s general direction, his eyes searching but not quite connecting. “Seriously.”

Oh. “You’re...You can’t see?” Peter didn’t know how to wrap his head around that, how worried he should be about it.

Daredevil just grunted. “Nothing new. Help me, gotta get the shirt off.”

“Yeah, I have to clean the wound. Claire’s on her way.”

“I know, I heard. Gotta sit up.” He started to, but collapsed with a quiet groan.

“Woah, I got you,” Peter cooed, snaking an arm under Daredevil’s shoulders and lifting him just enough to pull the armored shirt up and over his head, trying to keep him as horizontal as he could. His whole body was shaking, and his breath was shallow and labored. His skin was littered with old scars and half-healed bruises from fights before tonight, more than Peter expected. Guy knew how to take a hit.

Peter lowered him back down to the couch. “This might sting,” he warned, dipping one dish towel in the clean water. Daredevil nodded and took breaths as deep and steady as he could while Peter soaked up and wiped away most of the blood, but didn’t protest or cry out. It was over pretty quick, but Peter could see the wound now, the jagged tear in his friend’s skin, hints of muscle moving underneath as he breathed. It even made him wince.

“Not as bad as you think it is,” Daredevil mumbled, fingers shakily assessing the wound while he squinted at nothing in particular. “I've had worse.”

It was hard to tell whether he was trying to convince Peter or himself. Peter guided his hand away gently and pressed a clean, dry towel to the puncture, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. “You’re gonna be okay, D. Claire will be here soon.”

“My name is Matt. You’ve seen my face, you’re in my home, and you’re holding in what’s left of my blood. May as well know my name.”

Peter didn’t know what to say about that. Sharing names was such a profound act of trust, and certainly not what he had been expecting from all this. “I’m Peter,” he said, feeling smaller as he did so.

That was when the door slammed open. Peter yanked his mask back over his eyes and leaped to his feet, ready to defend his incapacitated companion. There was a woman quickly approaching, pretty, a little shorter than him, with long black hair, dark concerned eyes, and dressed in blue scrubs. She was holding a black medic bag in one hand and a lunchbox in the other. Matt grasped at Peter’s arm, holding him back. “Claire,” he rasped.

She nodded at Peter, unfazed, and sat on the coffee table, scooting it close and looking over her patient. “Damn it, Matt. What’d you do this time?” She spoke like she was irritated, but her eyes voiced her real concern. She lifted the towel, carefully, and assessed the damage.

“Shot. H--handgun,” Matt stuttered, shivering harder than before. “Don’t think it hit anything major, but I think it’s lodged against a nerve or something. It hurts worse than last time. Way worse.”

“Last time?” Peter asked

“Get him that blanket.” Claire jerked her head to a chair on the other side of the room, a fleecy throw blanket tossed over the back. Peter was still trying to wrap his head around last time, but did what she said and wrapped it around Matt the best he could, avoiding the injury and trying not to impede Claire’s work. He leaned over the back of the couch, waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

“You’re really going to need a sedative this time,” Claire said, pulling a pre-filled syringe out of her bag. “I need to extract the bullet if it’s pressing on a nerve, and I can’t do it while you’re shaking like this.”

“No drugs.” Matt sounded final. Claire sighed, lips pressed together tightly. It didn’t seem like the first time they had had this argument.

“Take the morphine or bleed out, because getting forceps into your abdomen while you’re conscious and squirming will just cause more damage and you’re going to go into shock any minute.”

Matt grunted at the pain, but didn’t answer her. Peter didn’t get it. It was a sedative, a painkiller. He clearly needed it. Why wouldn’t he just take it?

He’s already blind, Peter thought. Maybe dulling his other senses made him feel especially vulnerable.

Peter put a hand on Matt’s shoulder, comforting. His skin was cold and clammy. “Just do it, Matt. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Matt focused on Peter for a long moment, quirking his head to the side as if listening. Considering. Finally, he let out a deep, resigned sigh, and offered his trembling arm out to the doctor.

The drug kicked in fast; Peter could almost immediately feel Matt’s body still, could see his face soften. He reached up and touched Peter’s arm as he melted into the couch. “Don’t go anywhere,” he muttered.

“I won’t. You’re safe,” Peter promised again, and watched as Matt’s warm brown eyes slid shut, head lolling to the side. His hand slipped away, down to his chest. He was out again, hopefully not for the last time.

Claire worked fast, extracting the crumpled bullet and dropping it in the red-tinged mixing bowl. She packed the wound with gauze and taped a clean bandage over the hole. It was done in 20 minutes, and Matt was completely oblivious. Claire rummaged around in her bags, pulling tubes and needles out of the EMS bag and a bag of blood from the lunchbox. 

“You’ve known him a while?” she asked, hooking tubes and needles together with ease.

“About six months,” Peter replied. “You?”

“A year or so, but he only calls when he’s in over his head.”

“I can see why. You seem pretty good in emergencies.”

She smiled, sort of. “Helps to have someone around to stitch him up, and he’s worth keeping alive, even if he is a pain in the ass.”

Peter watched as Claire pulled a few bags of blood out of that lunchbox and attach a tube, and a needle to slip into Matt’s arm. She squeezed the bag, pumping blood into the man’s veins. Matt was getting some of his color back after three bags or so, pink flushing across his chest and cheeks. His breath was evening out. Claire checked his pulse and blood pressure after she was done, and seemed satisfied with what she found. She got up and started packing her things. “He might be out of action for a few days, but he’ll live. He needs lots of sleep, and as much food and water as you can get in him when he wakes up. Try not to let him walk around, and call me if he gets a fever.”

“That’s it?” Peter asked. Claire had only been there an hour or so.

“That’s it. Matt’s kind of a freak of nature, he doesn’t heal as fast as some of the supes on TV, like you, but his recovery time and pain tolerance is pretty amazing, it doesn’t take much to put him back on track. Plus he gets pouty when I give him anything more than minimal care.This is actually the first time he’s let me use any sedatives. He’s got a lot of faith in you.”

Peter repressed the warm feeling that realization brought. “How long should I stay with him?” He asked, looking down at the man in his care.

“As long as you can. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who has a lot of time on his hands. I’d recommend 24 hours, just to make sure the morphine is out of his system, but if he doesn’t let you, that’s his deal. Tell him I’ll be back soon to take care of his dressings.”

“Thank you for coming for him on such short notice,” Peter said as they walked to the door. “If you hadn’t been around….”

She smiled, looking exhausted. “It’s nothing new. You seem like a good guy. Matt’s lucky to have you on his side. Hope I see you under better circumstances next time.”

Peter smiled back. He decided he liked her. “Me, too. Goodnight, Claire.”

And then Peter was alone with Matt. He wandered back over to the living room and sat in a chair, staring at Matt’s sleeping form. He couldn’t stop thinking. Daredevil was a blind man. Daredevil was a very attractive blind man. Daredevil, the stoic and fearless protector of Hell’s Kitchen, was a man named Matt, and he apparently trusted Peter with his life. It was a lot to take in.

Peter sat there for hours, listening to Matt breathe, listening to the city outside. Hopefully, it didn’t need them, because they weren’t going anywhere. He was lost in thought, trying to figure out how a blind man could have such spatial awareness. He was replaying all the times he had seen Daredevil fight, how fluid and intuitively he moved. Could he do that by sound alone? Wasn’t there a theory he read about somewhere, that blind people have heightened senses when they lose their sight? He was trying to imagine surviving without vision, especially as a vigilante, when he heard a quiet groan. He snapped back into the present to see the bloody, bandaged lump on the couch shift and grumble.

“Peter?” Matt called. His head tossed and his eyes wouldn’t stay open. He was still out of it.

He was at Matt’s side in an instant, hand on his arm. “I’m here, Matt, don’t worry. You’re all patched up. Claire took good care of you. You’re safe.”

Matt started to sit up, face contorted in pain. Peter gently pushed him back down. “Don’t move, you’ll start the bleeding again. Just sleep until the drugs wear off, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Drugs?” Matt stilled for a moment, alarmed, trying to remember. Then it seemed to click, and he touched the bandaged on his side. “Have to get up.” His voice was low and slurry.

He tried to rise again, and again, Peter gently held him down. “Matt, nothing is important enough for you to get up right now.”

“Bathroom,” Matt explained, scrunching his face in concentration. “Need the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Peter thought for a minute. How could he do this without hurting Matt? The bathroom door was open, Peter glanced over his shoulder. It was too far for Matt to walk, but he couldn’t just do his business here. “Um. Okay, bear with me.” He stood up, and carefully, so carefully, picked Matt up. Matt’s fist clenched around Peter’s arm, his grip weak, but he didn’t complain. Peter took him to the bathroom. “Can you stand?” he asked.

Matt nodded. “Pretty sure.”

Peter placed Matt on his feet like he was made of glass, and let Matt stand on his own, staying close enough to catch him if he collapsed. “Got it?” he asked.

Matt was shaky, one hand on the sink at his right to steady himself, but nodded.

“Okay, I’m gonna get you some water. Just...yeah. Call if you need me.”

Peter was scrounging around the kitchen, listening closely for Matt to call. He came back with a tall glass of ice water and found Matt washing his hands, leaning heavy on the sink. He splashed water on his face and neck, trying to wake himself up.

“How’s it going?” Peter asked.

Matt shut off the sink and dried his hands with a towel hanging to his right. Even blind, he knew exactly where everything was. “Mission accomplished,” he muttered, turning to face Peter, still putting most of his weight on the bathroom counter. He looked hazy and tired, hair mussed and damp, staring into the distance with a watery, half-hearted smile. God, he was pretty. Peter tried to suppress that thought, but it was difficult, looking right at Matt like that. No masks, no facades. He wanted to hug and hold that man until the pain was gone.

Instead, he brought him water and tried not to sound as strangled as he felt. “Drink. Doctor’s orders.”

Matt drank like a man dying of thirst, turning around to refill the glass when he was done. He slammed two and a half glasses of water before he sighed in relief and set the cup aside. “Morphine makes my skin burn,” he commented, running a hand over his shoulder and down his arm. “I don’t like sedatives.”

“You needed it,” Peter said, slipping an arm around Matt’s waist to help guide him back to the couch.

“I know,” Matt said. “Will you...help me to the bedroom? The couch puts a kink in my neck.”

Peter would have done anything Matt asked, if he thought it would help him out. Peter brushed a hand against the sheets as he eased him down. “Black silk sheets? Really, Matt?”

“Are they black?” Matt asked. “Silk’s the only thing I can sleep in. I’m kinda sensitive to that sort of thing.” He kicked off his boots and peeled off the pants, slipping under the sheet without revealing anything. Not that he was trying to hide himself, but Peter refused to look at the naked vigilante, looking at literally anything but the naked man in the silk sheets in front of him. Matt seemed oblivious to Peter’s discomfort, too high to register what he was doing.

“Peter?”

“Yeah?” he answered too quickly, trying to be distracted from this uncomfortable situation.

Matt smiled at him, and his whole face looked younger for a moment. It was hard to believe that this was the man who could break thugs in two without a second thought, the scourge of the Kitchen’s criminal underbelly. “Thank you. For staying, and calling Claire. Wouldn’t have made it home without you. ‘M glad you’re here.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for.” Peter laughed, trying to brush off Matt’s words. It was the drugs making him all mushy, had to be. “Get some sleep, Matt, I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

Matt laid back, and seemed to be out again almost instantly. Peter didn’t linger, as much as he wanted to, but went back to the living room, sliding the bedroom door shut behind him. He couldn’t relax, so he cleaned up the blood that had spilled on the floor and dripped across the couch. Luckily, it was a relatively small puddle, and hadn’t seeped in between the cushions. He threw away the discarded bullet and washed the bowl, and laid Matt’s torn shirt out on the coffee table. When everything was tidy again, he sat back on the couch and waited for morning to come.

 

Peter wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he distinctly remembered waking up. There was a sizzling sound, and something smelled awesome. Bacon, that was it. But who was cooking?

He sat straight up when he remembered just where he was. Light was shining through the tall windows behind him, and Matt was in the kitchen, dressed in sweats and an incredibly flattering T-shirt. He raised his head towards Peter for a second, cocking an ear, but wasn’t distracted from his cooking. He smiled kindly. “Good morning.”

Peter just stared for a minute. Just...how? How was Matt up, and coherent, and moving? He looked like nothing had even happened to him. He looked...really good, actually. But that wasn’t the point! He shouldn’t be up at all.

“You...aren’t breathing,” Matt pointed out with a frown, and Peter let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You should be in bed,” Peter cried, hopping nimbly over the couch to get to Matt faster. What if he fell? What if the bleeding started again? A dozen scenarios were playing through Peter’s head. “Claire said not to let you walk around.”

“Claire worries too much, and I have work today,” Matt said, flipping eggs in a pan.

“Matt, you almost died last night.”

“I almost die most nights. Doesn’t negate the fact that I have to make a living.” Matt nodded to the dining table. “Sit. Breakfast will be ready in five.”

Peter did as told, but kept a watchful eye on his friend. “Call in sick,” he suggested.

Matt chuckled. “Not with Foggy, he’d come and lecture me if he found out I got hurt again. Even Daredevil couldn’t stop that force of nature.”

“Foggy?”

“My partner.”

Peter blinked. Partner? Matt caught himself instantly. “My law partner, we run a firm together. Not...yeah.” Matt blushed a little, and Pete’s heart might have skipped a beat.

“You’re a lawyer?” Peter asked.

“The irony is not lost on me.” Matt turned off the stove and served two steaming plates of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns. The smell made Peter’s mouth water. Matt favored his right side when he moved, but that was the only hint of his injury that Peter could see.

Both men dug into their food. Peter watched Matt carefully, searching for even the tiniest hint that Matt should be resting, but if the man was still in pain, he hid it well. They made small talk over breakfast, and Peter was taken by Matt’s wit. He made great conversation, and it was so different from Daredevil’s stoic silence that it blew Peter’s mind.

Peter did the dishes while Matt got ready for work, despite Peter’s pleas to go back to bed. He re-emerged from his bedroom as Peter finished up, working on his tie, and Pete had to do a double-take. Matt was dressed in a white button-up and slacks, his hair was damp from a shower and neatly brushed, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of red glasses. He looked...sexy as hell.

Matt could probably feel Peter’s eyes on him, so he didn’t look too long. “You look about ready to head out,” he commented. “I should go.”

Matt looked unhappy, just for an instant (Peter chalked it up to his hopeless imagination), then covered it with a smile. “Yeah. Thank you again, Peter. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me a thing,” Peter said. “I know you’d do the same.”

Peter climbed out through the roof entrance as Matt left through the front door, and swung home with a full belly and a fondness for Matt Murdock.

 

He got a text a week later from Daredevil. Not from Matt, the genial lawyer, but from the hero of Hell’s Kitchen.

‘Intercepting an outgoing shipment of kidnapped women at the harbor tonight. Bored?’

‘What time am I meeting you?’ Spiderman responded quickly.

‘11. Pier 94.’

‘It’s a date.’

“It’s not a date,” Peter told himself as he showered. He kept telling himself that, even as he brushed his hair carefully (even though Matt wouldn’t have seen it, and it would be ruined by his mask anyway) and spritzed the cologne he saved for special occasions. He just sprayed it into the air and walked through it, hoping that would make the scent subtle enough that Matt wouldn’t notice how hard he was trying. It’s just a mission, just business. Don’t get your hopes up, Petey.

Daredevil was waiting for him on the roof of a warehouse on the pier and met him with a nod. They were early to the party, but that was okay. It gave Peter time to stare at Daredevil, who was listening intently to the city and staying alert for any movement below, and appreciate the way that firm body fit into that uniform. They waited until a couple vans full of bound women pulled in behind the warehouse, and men with guns started forcing them into a shipping container. Daredevil and Spiderman did what they do best, and at the end of the night, they disappeared into the shadows, women freed, police on the way, and the traffickers incapacitated, maybe a bit more brutally than normal, but it certainly fit the crime.

“I know a great Chinese place that's delivered right now, if you’re hungry,” Matt said, as they raced across the rooftops of the city.

“Absolutely,” Peter said, maybe a little too quick. He had been waiting for some kind of invitation to stay with Matt; food was perfect.

“Then it’s a date.” Peter thought he could hear a smirk in the statement, even though Daredevil was in front of him and he couldn’t see his face.

They went back to Matt’s place, and Matt gave him some comfortable clothes to change into while he called in their order. He felt small and kind of silly in the pants and T-shirt that were just a touch too big on him, but the clothes also smelled like Matt, and that made it bearable. On top of that, Matt’s words still raced through his mind. It’s a date.

“It’s not a date,” Peter whispered to himself in the mirror. “Just...two buds, eating dinner. Stop overthinking it.”

He took a deep breath and went out to sit in the living room. Soft music was playing, some acoustic guitar piece without words. Peter was about to sit when he spied Matt standing in his bedroom. Peter bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. Come on!!

By the bed, Matt was in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer-briefs, prodding at the healing wound in his side, feeling for anything amiss. Did this man have no shame?

“How’s it healing?” Peter asked, praying he didn’t sound as shaky as he felt. He could see that the wound was healing well; Claire must have come and replaced the gauze with stitches, and the hole was on its way to becoming another scar on Matt’s perfect body.

Matt smiled, a light blush spread on his cheeks, and pulled on a hoodie and pants that had been laid out on his bed. “Fine. Never felt better.”

“Yeah, something tells me that’s a lie. But I’m glad.”

Matt disappeared into the kitchen for a second, and came back with two beers, sitting down next to Peter. They drank in comfortable silence. Peter knew Matt couldn’t see him, which was probably why he let himself stare. Matt was calm, staring straight in front of him, nursing his beer. His hair was just a little disheveled from the helmet, and a 5 o’clock shadow dusted his jaw. His eyes weren’t as soft as they’d been when he was drugged, but it was clear he was relaxed. Still. There was a way his shoulders were set, involuntarily tense, even as he sank into the couch, safe and warm. He was guarded, always listening for danger. Peter had the overwhelming desire to make him feel safe, to take that tension away.

“You’re the first person in a long time who hasn’t asked,” Matt finally said, nonchalant.

“Asked about what?” Peter had to shake himself out of his thoughts, afraid he’d missed something.

“My eyes.”

There was a pause. “What’s there to ask?” Peter finally said. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Most people are dying to know how it happened, the people who know me really well always ask how I can manage to fight crime like this. You just rolled with it.”

“I mean, I am curious,” Peter admitted. “But that’s a personal thing, and it doesn’t make you any less of a hero. You’ve saved my ass more than once, sight or no. I’m not worried about it, and I figured you’d tell me in your own time if you wanted me to know.”

Matt’s lips quirked up, the tiniest smile, but Peter sensed that Matt was happy with his answer.

“The delivery guy’s coming down the hall,” Matt commented, head tilting to the side. Peter relaxed as he took care of the bill and brought greasy food back to the living room. It was delicious, and Peter didn’t know if that was because it really was kickass food, or if it was because he was sharing it with Matt. 

He realized he didn’t really care.

It was almost 4 a.m. when they were done eating, and food coma was setting in. Peter wanted to stay, scrounged for any tiny reason to carry on the conversation, but his brain was shorting out from lack of sleep and words were failing him. He stood and stretched, yawning. “I hate to leave, but it’s pretty late. I should probably head home.”

He tried to step away, but Matt caught him by the wrist. His heart skipped a beat, and he knew Matt couldn’t have missed it. “Uhm….”

Matt’s lips parted as he considered his words, and Peter could feel his cheeks heat up despite himself. “You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.”

Peter was a Grade-A smartass, usually had a comeback for anything, but his mind was blanking. The best he could manage was a very elegant, “Huh?”

Matt chuckled and stood with him, too close, running a hand up Peter’s arm. Peter swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Was Matt doing what he thought he was doing? Was Peter hallucinating?

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed the night,” Matt explained with a shy (hopeful?) smile, eyes focused on Peter’s jaw. “In fact, I think it would be a pretty pleasurable experience for both of us. If you wanted.”

Peter wanted to say yes, wanted to draw Matt in for a kiss, but he was paralyzed. Matt must have picked up on his breathing pattern, or heard his dick get hard, or something, because next thing Peter knew, Matt was pressing his lips gently to Peter’s, a hand snaking around Peter’s hips and drawing him in. It was all Peter could do to keep from falling over, but he felt the lizard brain kick in, and his hands were suddenly clutching at Matt. One found purchase around his toned bicep, the other crept up into his hair. He felt breathless, body flush against Matt’s, Matt’s mouth on his. His tongue swiped out against Peter’s lips, just for a second, and he thought he might faint. Matt tasted like Chinese food, smelled like masculinity, and felt hot as a furnace. Peter could have stayed there forever.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?” Matt asked when they parted, voice a little dark and breathy. Peter nodded and wrapped his legs around Matt’s waist. Matt carried him to the bedroom and sat him on the bed, discarding the hoodie. His hand nimbly circled the collar of Peter’s uniform as he stole another deep, way-too-satisfying kiss. Finally, he growled, “How do I get you out of this thing?”

That voice did things to Peter that he was a little ashamed to admit, but reached behind his back and revealed the hidden zipper, guiding Matt’s fingers to the right spot. He almost ripped the uniform, trying to get it off Peter, kissing every patch of skin he uncovered as he went. “You don’t even know how many times I thought about this,” Matt growled into his skin, tongue flicking out over Peter’s nipple. “How many times I’ve thought about kissing you, touching you. You’ve been driving me fucking crazy, Peter.”

Peter moaned before he could stop himself, he felt like he was gonna cum in his pants like a damn teenager. Matt’s grin in reply was almost cruel, so dominant and lustful and gorgeous. Matt managed to lay Peter against the silky pillows, splayed out on the bed, exposed and wanting. Peter went all shaky and weak underneath him, and it only seemed to make Matt more voracious.

“Peter,” Matt finally said, when he was kneeling between the young man’s legs, hand gently stroking his thigh. His breath was heavy, but he seemed to have put a pause on his searing adoration. “Not that the speechless thing isn’t gorgeous on you, but I really need some verbal confirmation here. Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Peter said, his voice coming out a little more strangled than he had hoped. “Jesus Christ, yes.”

Matt laughed, a downright sinful sound, and swallowed Peter’s cock in one fluid motion.

“Shitfuck!” Peter arched his back, legs wrapping around Matt’s broad shoulders. Matt had done this before, that much was clear. He took Peter’s cock like an absolute champ straight down to the base (and Peter was no slouch), and in minutes had figured out just how to push Peter’s buttons, make him tremble and gasp and bury his fingers in Matt’s luscious hair.

“Matt--shit, Matt, I’m close….” Peter was balanced on that razor-thin edge when Matt pulled away, a string of saliva and precome stretching between his bottom lip and the head of Peter’s engorged cock.

“Not yet,” Matt growled, running a possessive but gentle hand up Peter’s side and running over a nipple with the pad of his thumb. Peter whimpered at the loss, frustrated and on-edge, but waited to see what Matt had in store.

Matt surged up and kissed Peter, deep and hot and wet. Peter could taste himself on Matt’s tongue. He felt a strong hand wrap around the back of his neck. “Can I fuck you?” Matt whispered, mouth traveling to Peter’s jaw, his neck. Teeth gently nipping at the flesh of his throat.

“Why else would I let you take me to bed?” Peter joked. Matt sucked harshly on a nipple in retaliation, making Peter’s breath catch in his throat.

“Smartass,” Matt murmured, kissing the skin he had just abused. Peter smiled and sighed his pleasure. He was proud he had enough of his brain left to say anything remotely clever, and utterly blissed out on Matt’s mouth.

Peter watched as Matt fished a bottle of lube and a box of condoms from his top drawer. “Entertain often?” Peter asked, unwilling to admit whether or not a pang of jealousy struck him.

Matt smiled and he flipped the cap on the bottle. “Nope. These are brand new. I was...kind of expecting this.”

“Wait, wha--” Peter yelped and bit the inside of his cheek when Matt drizzled cold lube over Peter’s crack, fingers worming their way in between the smooth, pale globes. Peter groaned, forgot what he was saying, and Matt’s fingers found his hole and started to tease.

Matt kissed him through the discomfort as he slipped a finger into Pete’s ass. Peter drove back at him like a man possessed, needing more, needing Matt. Matt was eager to please, eager to make Peter feel good, and it wasn’t long before he had four fingers buried in Peter, scissoring and slick with lube. Peter wanted to touch himself, ached for friction on his throbbing cock, but Matt just patiently swatted his hand away. “Don't make me tie you up,” Matt whispered, nipping Peter’s earlobe. He paused when Peter’s breath hitched and his cock slapped against his belly. Apparently, he was way more into that idea than he realized.

“Please Matt. Please, please fuck me.” Peter almost didn’t recognize his own voice, broken and desperate. He almost sobbed when Matt’s fingers were withdrawn, felt like he was on fire when Matt wasn’t touching him. He looked down at Matt and watched as he discarded his sweatpants and those fucking underwear.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit.” Peter was shocked back into reality at the sight, and his heart began to race. Matt was huge. Like, pornstar huge. Kill a man with your dick huge.

“You aren’t breathing. Again.” Matt smiled, but he looked nervous, but his face and chest were flushing pink. Matt was blushing.

“S--sorry,” Peter stammered. “I just wasn’t expecting--”

“No,” Matt interrupted, hands raised. “Don’t be sorry. I should have said something. I, um. I know it’s...intimidating. I should have warned you. I’m sorry!” He grew serious. “I understand, if you don’t want to--”

“No!” Peter grasped his hand and pulled him down to kiss him, fingers trailing down Matt’s abs to caress his manhood. He relished the stunned intake of breath, the furrowed brow, the tiny twitch of the hips as he tried to restrain himself. “I want you,” Peter continued, wrapping his hand around the base. Jesus, he couldn’t even get his fingers all the way around it. The mental image of him taking it flashed into his head, how fucking full he would feel, how it would stretch him open. “I really want to do this.” He slid his hand up, Matt’s cock was already weeping, and swiped his thumb over the head. Matt groaned and shuddered, dipping his face to Peter’s neck and mouthing at the skin there. “Take me, Matt.”

Matt sat back up, balanced on his knees, and Peter sucked his thumb clean with a wet pop! And could see the little gasp and the satisfied blink “You’re gonna kill me, kid,” Matt muttered, taking his dick and lining it up with Peter’s hole. “Promise to tell me if it’s too much.”

“I promise,” Peter sighed, knowing full well it wouldn’t be. He was Spider-Man, he could take a little pain, and he would never be able to stop kicking himself if he turned down Matt Murdock because it was too much for him. Call him petty, but he liked the challenge.

“You’re tensing up,” Matt murmured, pressing his lips to Peter’s and running touches feather-soft down Peter’s neck and chest. “Just relax for me.”

“Right.” Peter let out air he didn’t know he was holding and forced his muscles to relax. He tilted his head back to better clear his mind and just get lost in sensation, so it came as a surprise when Matt slid a hand down his erection. Peter moaned at that, and he realized it was a distraction from what would come next, but he didn’t have it in him to care. Matt made soothing noises as he pressed. Peter forced his muscles to accept him, to stay loose and open. God damn, he was big. Just the head of his cock seemed to stretch forever, bulbous and entirely too much, and yes Peter wanted it and yeah, this was the hottest thing that had ever happened in his fucking like but god damn. Matt started twisting his hand at each end stroke, thumb brushing that sensitive spot just under the head and eliciting trembling gasps from his lover. The pain spiked for an instant, and suddenly Matt was inside, the head having breached that tight ring of muscle.

Both men sighed; the hard part was over. Matt drizzled a little more lube at the point where they were joined, then slowly, carefully, pushed inside, wrapped up in Peter’s reactions. The burn was still there, but it was lessened. The pleasure was more intense now, swamping the pain, and drowning out anything but this moment.

“Please fuck me,” Peter whined, grasping for Matt. He was so full, and Matt was so close, and he just needed more.

Matt began to thrust, slow and careful. Peter could feel heat radiating off him, could feel a strong hand tangled in his hair. He could feel Matt inside, every fucking inch, and it was perfect. Matt’s eyes were closed now, but he looked blissed out on sensation, and completely focused on what he was doing, breathing in tight little huffs. Peter wasn’t much better off, gasping and writhing every time Matt pushed in. He pulled Matt close and kissed him, anywhere the man would allow. Face, neck, chest. He bent down to lick a nipple and Matt groaned, a deep, thick sound. Peter started bucking down onto Matt’s cock, accustomed now to the sensation and craving more. Matt sped up and pushed deeper, getting the hint, and stars flashed behind Peter’s eyes when the cockhead slid over his prostate.

“Matt!!” Peter screamed, clenching and bucking down, body out of control. “Holyfuckingshit--please, please do that agai--”

Matt obliged, with a knowing smirk that grew into a shit-eating grin when Peter keened, long and loud, and rode out the sensations that Matt gave him.

“Matt, I’m gonna--” Peter warned, cut off by a sharp thrust. He was so full, overwhelmed by sensation and so ready.

“Come for me, Peter,” Matt growled in his ear, tongue tracing his jawline and nipping at the tender skin. He gripped Peter’s cock, stroked once, twice, and Peter lost it. His mind went white, his body taut as a wire. He went still, sobbing and gasping in time with the spurts that landed on his chest and belly, on Matt, streaking them both. “Ah, ah, ah.”

“Fuck, you don’t even know how good you feel, Peter, how good you smell.” Matt was fucking him through his orgasm, groaning into his skin. His thrusts became erratic, and he sucked in air as he found his release. Peter was floating on a cloud after his orgasm, but he could actually feel Matt pulsing inside him, and clenched just so he could enjoy the grunt it elicited and the way Matt tugged on Peter’s hair, trying to restrain himself.

Matt held Peter close to him, both men fucked out and sticky with Peter’s release. Peter was pliant, letting Matt handle him, content smile never faltering. Matt pulled a towel out of fucking nowhere and cleaned them both up. Then he maneuvered them into a comfortable position, legs intertwined, and wrapped his arms loosely around Peter’s torso.

“That was amazing,” Peter mumbled into Matt’s chest, taking in the smell of him, sweaty and sweet, a musk that he never thought he would get to savor.

Matt’s fingers trailed up and down Peter’s back, his nose buried in Peter’s hair and his eyes shut. Peter could feel his chest rising and falling slowly. “Mm-hmm. I can’t believe we didn’t do that sooner. You are amazing.”

“So you planned this?” Peter asked, lifting his head just enough to see Matt’s face.

Matt smiled faintly, heavy and relaxed, but his arms tensed, just a touch. He was nervous. “I was fairly certain it would work. I can hear your heart spike when you see me, and I smelled the cologne tonight. It’s nice, but you don’t need it. But I knew you wanted me, and I meant what I said. I had thought about this, wanted this for a while.”

Peter smiled and burrowed back into Matt’s embrace. “Good. About time one of us did something. I was worried I’d just be staring at your ass forever without you knowing.”

Matt laughed and relaxed around Peter. “You can definitely keep staring at my ass, but trust me. I knew.”

Peter liked Matt like this. For the first time since the night he was shot, Matt seemed at ease, didn’t seem like he was on guard or waiting for some attack. He wanted to see it more often. Peter closed his eyes with a happy sigh. They should probably clean up, but it could wait. The two men slept peacefully, warm and secure, wrapped up in each other.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic ended up being way longer than I anticipated, but overall I'm happy with it. Please let me know what you guys think, or what you think I could improve upon in the future since I'm still new to the whole fanfic shebang.
> 
> Hope you guys like it! <3


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